THE MAHABHARATA: A Modern Rendering, Vol 2 (58 page)

But Karna had hoped to cheat fate. Even after he discovered Arjuna was his brother, the old flame of rivalry had not subsided entirely in his heart. He must show the world who its finest archer was. Bheeshma, Drona and the others all said it was Arjuna; he knew they were wrong, he would prove them wrong. Even now, his hand rests reluctantly on the ayudha. Indra had taken his kavacha and kundala; Krishna had struck him deep by telling him Arjuna was his brother. He cannot hope to defeat the Pandava without Indra’s Shakti. That would be fateful, indeed: a brother killing his brother with his father’s weapon! But now, the rakshasa threatens. The war will end tonight, in defeat for Duryodhana, if Ghatotkacha is not killed. Karna knows that if he uses the Shakti against Ghatotkacha, the war would be as good as lost anyway. For then, what weapon would conquer Arjuna?

Meanwhile, Bheema’s son is death’s gory specter on Kurukshetra. Again, Karna hears Duryodhana cry at him, “The Shakti, Karna, kill the rakshasa!”

Tears spring in his eyes, but he is strangely glad as well. Now he would not kill his brother; instead, he would die at his hands. Ah, sweet death: end of the long cruelty that had been his life! For his friend he would die, for his brothers, most of all, for his mother, for Kunti. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? That Arjuna kills Karna. Karna raises the Shakti above his head. It is as if a midnight sun has risen on Kurukshetra. Light floods the field. Karna stands at the heart of that splendor; tears like fire-drops scald his eyes.

With an echoing cry, he casts Indra’s Shakti at Bheema’s son. Time stands still as the Shakti flashes from his hands. It seems to take an age to traverse the night to its target. Ghatotkacha stands helpless in its path, his mantle of maya torn apart by the coruscance of the Shakti. Fearlessly, he watches his death come for him. All his wild and tender life flashes before him in the yawning moment the ayudha takes to arrive. With a roar beginning on his lips, Ghatotkacha grows big as a hill. He towers over the Kaurava army. Before his roar ends, with a report like ten thunderclaps, the Shakti crashes into his chest in an explosion of light. The weapon blows a great hole in Ghatotkacha’s chest, killing him instantly. He falls like a mountain on Duryodhana’s army, crushing tens of thousands of soldiers in his final moment, a whole aksauhini, just as he intended. In the shocked silence, Bheema’s roars echo. Again and again, the Pandava roars his grief into the still night.

That sound is music to Duryodhana’s ears. He flies to Karna, pulls his friend into his own chariot and embraces him. His arm around his warrior, Duryodhana rides triumphally through his army and the soldiers cry out Karna’s name, Duryodhana’s and ‘Jaya’!

At the edge of the battle, Bheema sits on the ground and buries his face in his hands. A moment ago, it seemed Ghatotkacha by himself would win this war for them; now, the shock of his death lances through Yudhishtira’s legions. Numbly, the Pandava king rides to Bheema’s side. Yudhishtira is also sobbing helplessly. Ghatotkacha was his first nephew and always his favorite child. He sits beside Bheema bereft on the ground, the stricken Bheema. Yudhishtira takes his brother’s hand. He wipes Bheema’s tears, while his own flow: their arms around each other, the two of them mourn.

All the Pandava army is stunned when Ghatotkacha falls. There is one exception: Krishna exults! Arjuna climbs down from his chariot and stands too shocked to shed a tear. But his sarathy leaps down from his chariot-head in unashamed delight. Crying out in jubilation, he embraces Arjuna. The soldiers around them watch the strange sight curiously.

Arjuna turns on Krishna in anguish. “My Lord! Am I dreaming, or are you pleased Ghatotkacha is dead? Bheema’s son has died, what makes you so happy?”

Krishna takes Arjuna by his shoulders. “This is the happiest day of my life! I don’t celebrate Ghatotkacha’s death, but the manner in which he died.”

“What do you mean?”

“The war is won! Don’t you see, Arjuna, Ghatotkacha’s life was the price of victory: and I swear he will not have died in vain. Now Yudhishtira will surely sit upon the throne of the earth.”

“Whatever do you mean, Krishna? I don’t understand a word you are saying.”

“It is so plain! Now Karna is dead. The only man I feared of the enemy. You still don’t see? The Shakti, Arjuna: he could use it only once and he has. If you knew how many sleepless nights I have spent thinking of Karna with his Shakti, perhaps you would understand my relief. Arjuna, Ghatotkacha has died in your place and I don’t fear Karna any more.”

Arjuna still looks puzzled. Krishna goes on, more softly now, “Everyone said Arjuna is invincible, that he is the greatest kshatriya on earth. I knew they were all wrong. Karna would have killed you with the Shakti. Do you know what Duryodhana said to me when I went to try to make peace in Hastinapura? He said, ‘I have Karna on my side. He by himself will win the war for me.’

Bheeshma and Drona scoffed at him; and they would, because they believed their Arjuna was invincible. But Duryodhana loves Karna and his love made him more clear-eyed than the rest. Arjuna, Duryodhana was right. Only he realizes Karna’s true worth.” His voice is a whisper now, deafening Arjuna.

Krishna says, “You see, I also knew the truth: that of all the archers on earth, Arjuna is not the greatest one but Karna. You may have beaten him twice, but you are not his equal at all. There is no archer like Karna. Before the war began, Bheeshma contemptuously refused even to include Karna among the maharathikas of the Kaurava army. He said that, without his kavacha and kundala, he was at best an ardharathika. But your Pitama was wrong, you know. Why, as long as Karna had Indra’s Shakti, not the armies of Devaloka could face him. As long as he had either his kavacha and kundala, or the Shakti, not Indra, Varuna or Kubera could defeat him. Not you, with the Gandiva, not I, with the Sudarshana, could kill Karna!

Now he is like a serpent without its fangs, a God who is not immortal any more. Even now, only you can kill him, Arjuna. But at least it can be done.”

Arjuna listens, astonished. Satyaki has joined them, he, also, amazed by what Krishna says. The Dark One goes on gravely, “Karna is the most misunderstood, most demeaned man on earth. You have no idea who he is, what he is. Ah, he is like the sun at noon, too bright to gaze upon. Arjuna, this enemy of yours is not just the best archer in the world, but the most pious, noble man on earth. Why, those who know his heart will claim he is as great as Yudhishtira, greater. Who has suffered as Karna has? You five have always had one another to take comfort from, during your trials. But whom does Karna have? He is alone and alone he has borne his torments.

But the time draws near for his anguish to end, in the only way it can. It is time for great Karna to die. Without his Shakti, you can kill him. Only then will this war be won and Yudhishtira sit upon the throne of the world, as he was born to. You ask me why I rejoice at Ghatotkacha’s death. I rejoice because he gave his life to save the world; he gave his life so your life may be saved. He made the noblest sacrifice of all, the needful one.”

They hear exuberant roaring as the Kaurava army comes streaming back into battle, to celebrate Ghatotkacha’s death. Satyaki asks, “But, Krishna, why didn’t Karna use the Shakti against Arjuna?”

Krishna smiles, he says, “Every night, they would speak of nothing else in their tents, Duryodhana, Dusasana, Shakuni and Karna. All these days Karna stalked Arjuna, so he could cast the Shakti at him. But I knew he had the weapon and that is why, Arjuna, time and again I avoided Karna. When, once or twice, we did face him, I made him forget he had the Shakti!”

The battle rages once more by the sea of torches. Krishna says, “Drona is attacking us again. His soldiers are wild with joy at Ghatotkacha’s death. Come, we must rally our forces.”

Some way off, Yudhishtira raises his tearful face and whispers to Bheema, “My brother, Drona rides at us again. I feel too faint to come to battle. Bheema, go and face the Acharya; he will take great toll of us if he isn’t contained.”

Heartbroken and radiantly brave, Bheema wipes his eyes. He clasps his brother once, tightly and then goes out to vent his sorrow on the enemy. Yudhishtira sits slumped against his chariot-wheel, sobbing desperately now and again. When Krishna comes to him, he finds the gentle Pandava has fainted from a grief he cannot support.

Gently, Krishna wakes his cousin. He says, “This weakness is not for a kshatriya and a king. Your army depends on you; every man in it fights for you. You must master your sorrow, all will be lost if you succumb like this.”

Yudhishtira fetches a sigh. His eyes still stream and he says, “Ah, Krishna, I know, I know. Nothing is certain in war, from moment to moment. But won’t I be the worst sinner if I don’t grieve for my precious child, my sweet Ghatotkacha? Let me recount, at least once, all that he did for us and so quietly, with never a thought for himself. You did not know him as I did, Krishna. He was so loving, more than any other child in our family. He was the first in his generation and I loved him twice as much as I do Sahadeva. And ever since he was an infant, he was specially fond of me.”

Krishna realizes he must allow Yudhishtira this expiation of remembrance. Softly, as if to himself, Yudhishtira goes on, “He spent his childhood with us and he was such an intelligent boy. He learned everything so quickly, Krishna: the Shastras from me, archery from Arjuna, fighting with the mace from his father, until he went away with his mother. Later, when we were in exile in the Kamyaka vana, Ghatotkacha heard Arjuna had left us to sit in tapasya. He knew how much we would miss our brother and he came there and spent some months with us. How thoughtful he was! And such a joy, always self-effacing and so resourceful. On Himavan, when Draupadi and I could not climb up to Badarikasrama, Bheema summoned Ghatotkacha. He came with his people and they carried us on their backs and flew to Nara Narayana’s asrama.

Since the war began, he has been with us. You saw how he fought, how bravely, how carelessly of his own life. And not for kingdom, or any desire for it: if he was alive and we won, he would only have gone back to his jungles. Power and kingdom meant nothing to him. He came to fight just out of love; and he, who least deserved to die, has been sacrificed to this gruesome war. Oh, how will I ever know happiness again when my pure child is dead?

When Abhimanyu was killed, none of us was near him; but Ghatotkacha died before our eyes. What was the point in killing Jayadratha for Abhimanyu’s death? Drona and Karna were to blame and they have not paid for what they did. Even now, no one speaks of killing Karna for what he has done to our precious child.”

Then, rage grips Yudhishtira. He rises, quivering. “But I will not leave him alive. I will avenge my Ghatotkacha tonight!”

Not looking back at Krishna, Yudhishtira climbs into his chariot. Krishna runs to Arjuna. In this mood, Yudhishtira must be guarded closely. In alarm, Krishna and Arjuna watch him make his way round the rest of the army. He means to ride at Karna through the Kaurava ranks. They pursue him as swiftly as they can. Suddenly, a glowing figure looms before Yudhishtira’s chariot in the night. His horses rear, neighing, in fear of the dark, matt-haired apparition that bars their way. Tossing their manes, they stop still before that wild and holy one.

Vyasa says quietly to his Pandava grandson, “Ghatotkacha’s death was written long ago, Yudhishtira. He was born to die for you. You must not give in to sorrow; all your army depends on you. If Karna had not killed Ghatotkacha with the Shakti, Arjuna would have died by it. And then this war would really have been in vain: for then, not you, but Duryodhana would have sat upon the throne of the world.”

Yudhishtira stands, hands folded, his good sense slowly returning to him. Vyasa continues, “Just five days more, Yudhishtira. Five days more and victory will be yours. Five days and you will be lord of the earth and the light of dharma will shine again in the dark world. And those whom you want to see punished for what they have done shall be dead. Go back to your brothers. You will achieve nothing by riding out like this, except getting yourself killed; and if you do, everything will truly be lost.”

Yudhishtira shivers when he realizes how close he has come to destroying himself and his sacred cause. He bows to his grandfather, who vanishes before him as mysteriously as he appeared. Krishna and Arjuna ride up beside Yudhishtira. Together, they turn back the way they came and a moment fraught with danger passes.

TWENTY-NINE
DRONA 

The two hosts rush at each other by torchlight and the killing begins again; the air is shrill with the screams of a thousand dying men, thick with the roars of their killers. But past the midnight hour, deep tiredness is upon them all as well. They have been fighting since morning and there are those that actually fall asleep where they stand and have their heads struck off by an enemy almost as exhausted.

Arjuna’s voice rings out above every other sound of battle. “All of us are tired. I say we should sleep an hour or two before we fight again.”

Shouts of approval from both armies greet this. Not waiting a moment, every soldier on that field lays down his weapons, lies on the blessed earth and lets sleep come over him. Some Kaurava soldiers cry before they fall asleep, “God bless Arjuna for his mercy!”

Then, soon, silence; only a sea of breathing heaves against night’s deep quiet. Kurukshetra lies darkling, a child that has sobbed itself to sleep, scarlet trails on her face. The sleeping and the dead lie side by side, indistinguishable. A moon the hue of blood rises high over this spectacle, a cardinal lotus blooming in the sky. As Soma Deva climbs higher, his ruddy complexion fades and Kurukshetra is bathed in silver light.